


The Skin You're In

by calrissian18



Series: this shouldn't even be here [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dark, M/M, Mindfuck, Originally Posted on Tumblr, tumblr!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 11:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The skin you’re in, it’s not the skin you own, stolen, stolen and cloned,” he sing-songs under his breath, the chatter of his teeth getting more violent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Skin You're In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Re_White](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Re_White/gifts).



> Pt. 6 of the tumblr!fic series. re-white, an _awesome_ commenter/kudoser, gave me the _awesome_ prompt: "Derek discovers Stiles sleepwalking around the Nemeton. Cue hurt/comfort, huddling for warmth maybe? Season according to taste." Because they are _awesome_!
> 
> [Original post](http://wellhalesbells.tumblr.com/post/68634597812/and-weve-reached-the-last-tumblr-fic-of-the-day).

Stiles blinks down at his trembling fingers, turning his hands over carefully, checking for evidence of what he might have done with them.  He has no idea where he is, only that it’s definitely not the same place he’d been when he’d laid down to sleep.  He steps away from where he’s standing and his feet are raw, freezing but not cold enough to be numb.  He looks down, unsurprised to find they’re bare and bloody in the dirt and frost.

He’s not wearing anything aside from thin pajama bottoms and goosebumps.

He turns in a circle and stares down at the flat face of the Nemeton.  It stares back into him, eyes splitting out from the rings, dark and bold.  Stiles stumbles back and a hand catches his shoulder.  He sees the leather jacket first and then the scruff and then the grayer skin under green eyes.

“Stiles?”  Derek’s voice is stretched with concern.

Stiles backs away from him, the flutter of sharp wings in his periphery.  He sinks down onto the edge of the Nemeton and covers his head with his hands, using his own elbows to block his ears against the rat-tat-tat of the wings.

“Stiles?”

Stiles backs away from the voice, away from the wings, until he’s sitting in the middle of the Nemeton with his head bowed and his bloody feet pulled up under him.

He’s rocking back and forth when his hands are pulled away from his neck.  “Stiles.  Stiles, it’s me, it’s Derek.”

Stiles shakes his head frantically, hissing, “I know what you are.  Derek’s gone.  Derek’s left.  Got away from you while he still could.”  Stiles fists his hands in his hair.  “You’re lies made flesh.  Imposter in someone else’s skin.”

“Fuck,” not-Derek curses and then he’s ripping out of his jacket and draping it around Stiles’ trembling shoulders.  “You’re freezing,” he says tightly, like he’s angry with the whole world about it.

He pulls Stiles into his chest, wraps his arms tight around him, and Stiles closes his eyes, ignores the hop-skip of not-Derek’s heartbeat that wants to lull him into thinking this is real.  He knows better.  “The skin you’re in, it’s not the skin you own, stolen, stolen and cloned,” he sing-songs under his breath, the chatter of his teeth getting more violent.

Not-Derek grips him by his shoulders.  “I did leave.  I left, Stiles, and I shouldn’t have.  But I came back.”

Stiles blinks up at him with unfocused eyes and snorts.  “Who the fuck would come back here?  Liar, liar, pants on fire.”  He yawns.

“Stiles, you can’t fall asleep.”

Stiles laughs.  “And I can’t wake up.  Trapped between states of being, never truly one or the other.  Can you see the air, it shimmers here.”

Not-Derek grits his teeth.  “You’re not making sense.  Stiles, try to stay with me.”

“I want to be,” he whispers to himself, gazing down at not-Derek’s chest, “I want to be with you.”

Not-Derek stares at him, dark eyes boring into Stiles before he leans in and captures Stiles’ lips with his own.

The kiss is slow and soft and sweet and the most real thing Stiles has felt in months.  Stiles grabs the front of Derek’s shirt, curls his fingers in the fabric and pulls himself up onto his knees.  He plunges his tongue into Derek’s mouth and Derek lets him slot their lips together more firmly.

“I’m here,” Derek whispers into his mouth and Stiles moans, so relieved he can feel tears burning at the corners of his eyes.

“Derek,” he gasps against his lips and then hands are sliding around his waist, pulling him closer.  “Derek,” he says again on a sigh.

A thumb brushes the hair back from his forehead and then a voice is saying softly in his ear, “You’ll have to tell me if you see it, Stiles.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in and he’s so much colder than he was a moment ago and he realizes it’s because something damp is spreading over his bottoms.  He pulls away as much as Derek will let him and he’s  _wet_ and freezing and officially  _not Derek_.

Matt Daehler’s bloated and blue face is cracked with a smile, darkly veined up the sides.  He leans in close.  “I didn’t see anything but darkness,” he says, voice pitched low.  His head tilts to the side, neck at an almost grotesque angle, and Stiles feels the little warmth he’d found with not-Derek drain away.  “If you see a light when I drag you down,” Matt says viciously, “do let me know.”


End file.
